Burning Desire
by someonepleasehelp
Summary: Peter Paddock moves into the notorious Murder House for his mother's failing psychic reality show. While Peter adjusts to their new home, a constant visitor changes Peter's relationship with his mother. He soon realizes the home is far more dangerous, especially while he falls for Tate. ENJOY!
1. Chapter 1

_Fucking great, this is it isn't it?_ I thought to myself as I lugged my suitcase up the stairs in our new home. "Isn't it great!?" chimed my mother, as if she could read my mind. She twirled around in her heels as if she was Dorothy Gale swirling around on the yellow brick road. _God bless her heart._ As soon as she realized I didn't answer, she looked straight at me with her blue eyes aimed and ready to shoot. "Well?" She asked. "It's…" I gaze around the historic house, "got character." Her reaction soon changed from Dorothy Gale to the Wicked Witch, "character? That's it? We move to this wonderful home and all you say is" before she could finish her sentence a knock at the door stops her.

We both just stare at the door as if it were some strange foreign object. The knocks continue until the door is swung open and a woman in floral dress enters. "Why hello dears." Her southern accent practically fills the room along with her strong perfume. "I'm Constance, your new neighbor." She stands in our doorway holding a chocolate cake and a pack of cigarettes in the other,judging us both. "Oh! Hello! I'm Abigail and this is my son Peter." She turns around and rushes me over to greet the strange woman, but of course not before pinching my back. It's a habit of ours, she pinches my back when I hunch over. My mother believes in manners above all else, a straight back has no place for her gay son. "Thank you for coming over, um what was your name again?" The blonde woman rolls her eyes at my mother as she walks up to her and shoves the cake into her hands. _I could see myself falling in love with this woman. _"My name is Constance Langdon." She walks past us and examines the house, although the way she walks through the halls she walks as if searching for something. My mother turns to me and gives me a look as if I'm supposed to protect her from this sassy southern woman. _What the fuck do you want me to do? Ask her if she'd marry me?_ She nudges me to go confront her. "Um..Constance can we help you with something?" I ask her with fear in my voice. Constance stops her search and turns back around, stopping to look at me. "Hmmm" The only sound she lets leave her lips as she examines me from top to bottom. "You're a flamer aren't you?" She says with a smirk, as if she solved a riddle no one could solve. The second Constance asked me the taboo of all questions my mother ran up to her, "Constance, as you can see we are very busy! We just moved in…" Constance interrupted her, "What do you do? If you don't mind me asking, I've just always been the curious type." My mother obliviously wasn't expecting her reaction, but as the mild-mannered woman that she is she answered, "I'm a psychic. I can tell the future." Constance didn't even blink, which is odd due to the fact that the last person she told she was a psychic called her the "She-devil! You'll burn for working with the dark arts!" The person she told was our landlord and we soon moved afterwards. "A psychic? Well you've certainly come to the right place for your magic" She uttered while twirling her fingers as if to cast a spell herself. My mother offended answered, "It's not magic, but thank you for bringing over this cake." Constance once again interrupted by going around my mother and flocked towards me, as if a vulture stalking prey. Her eyes gazing upon me, seemingly staring into my soul, ignoring my mother as she explained her psychic abilities while trying to politely getting her ass out of our house. "Well!" Constance giggled and made her way towards the door, "I'm sorry for barging in but I thought I'd bring this over and welcome you." She smiled a generous grin and turned on her heels and left. "Peter, what was that?" My mother asked me with confusion, "Hell if I know. But I do know that I'll take this cake!" I grabbed the cake from her hands and ran towards the kitchen. Leaving my mother standing at the door, still wondering what the hell just happened.

As I rush to the kitchen, all thoughts to devour this cake, I stop in my tracks with the presence of another being in the room with me. "Who the hell are you!?" I yell as an attempt to seem manly, even though I'm pretty sure my expression is an _I just crapped my pants_ sort of look. The strange boy in front of me is gorgeous, dirty blonde hair just like James Dean, with pale skin that almost appears as if translucent. He looks at me with such rage that I can't move, I'm stuck in one spot not being able to look away from his gaze. He moves closer towards me, steps so quiet the floor boards no longer squeak at his steps. I feel my breath getting harder as his face gets closer towards mine. "What what…do you want?" are the only words I can muster up as the boy gets closer. He stares into my eyes and towers over me, his tall frame is nothing compared to my measly 5'6''. He inches closer, I look down as preparations for the worst. I don't dare look up at the creature whose so close I can feel his breathe on me. The boy places his hands on the side of my face, ice cold to the touch. I still don't move, _I'm going to die. I'm going to die by fucking Edward Cullen. _I feel his body move and his face inches towards my ear, his breathe just as cold as his hand. As I take my, assumed, last breath of life he whispers softly into my ear,

"Boo".


	2. Chapter 2

The minute I open my eyes the beautiful creature is gone. I still can't move, his breathe still remains on my skin. I raise my hand where his touch used to be, still cold and chill where his handprint had been. _Where the hell did he go?_ "MOM!" I scream in a panic, although my feet still aren't able to function. _Useless feet._ The second the words left my lips the sound of her heels, click click, hit the hallways. "Peter! What's going on!?" Her voice unlocks my trance and I run towards her, "Mom! There was someone in here!" She instantly goes into security mode, leaving me while I'm still shaking like a leaf. Locking the doors and scanning the area, she makes sure no area is untouched.

"For a fucking psychic you're HORRIBLE at predicting the FUCKING future!" As I clutched my heart, all in hopes to calm myself. Taking a deep breath and then I look up and I see my mother, her entire stance has changed. Her facial expression morphed, she's no longer America's "Sweetheart Psychic" she's now the woman that I've known since I've been born. She's Norma Oroson, my mother. I step back in fear; I know that stance far too well. "Don't you ever..." she takes a step forward, as if a lioness stalking her prey. "Mom…" the only word I can utter. Another step towards me, "speak like that to me!" She raises her hand and in the next moment I only feel the familiar burning sensation on my cheek. The heat of her slap replaces the boy's calming chill. I don't say a word; I simply stare at my mother in fear of causing her to hit me again. "PETER! What did I say?!" she demanded an answer. I still don't move, the sting takes over my body and paralyzes me from speech. "PETER!" She yells as she takes her final step towards me, arm tense as if ready to slap again. "Yes mam'" I utter as quiet as possible. As I look up my answer changes her, her demeanor changing from Joan Crawford to America's fucking sweetheart Abigail Paddock.

She straightens her back and takes out any folds in her dress. Wiping her hands as if finishing a hard days work. "Well!" She chirps with a perky tone "Good! The guy you say was probably a squatter, I'll get the locks changed. But right now, go put on some of my makeup and fix that up." She points to her now red hand mark, as if I'd tripped down the stairs and it was my fault. "The crew is going to be here soon! They're going to collect some footage for the new season!" She adds with a chuckle as she saunters out, using her persona that's far too familiar with television.

While she leaves I stand for a minute, trying to compose myself. Collect what's left of my sanity and leave the kitchen, never once noticing that the beautiful blonde boy had seen our incident; even though I could still feel the chill of his presence feel the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Rushing up the stairs to my mothers new room I can feel the tears forming, the oh so familiar tears start building. I don't dare let her see me cry, _she doesn't fucking deserve that_ I think to myself. The faster I move to her room the more I feel the tears beginning to stream down my cheek. As each drop creates a new line on my face I race towards her door. The minute I enter her room I slam the door behind me, leaning up against the wood to prop myself up. _Hold back the tears dammnit. Peter, just breathe. _My back grows cold against the surface of the door; I simply let the chill calm me down. Trying hard to hold back my tears I stand in the entryway letting the cold and the silence bring me back.

Five minutes pass; the only amount of time I give myself to calm down after an incident. I don't like dwelling on my mothers' tendencies to fuck shit up. _Make-up, you don't want to be caught on camera with your mother's handprint, do you? _ "Why would you let her do that?" a voice out of nowhere speaks, cutting the silent air like a knife. Once again, my body doesn't move. Fear takes my body hostage. "You don't deserve that from a cruel bitch like her." The voice doesn't have a mouth to claim, it was if the voice was coming from everywhere. My feet circle the room, trying to locate the voice. "Who's there?" I muster up to say. Nothing. "Come out!" I demand softly. _I swear to god you're as terrifying as a Chihuahua. _As I stand still the familiar chill clouds over my back. A presence covers me and a familiar word is uttered, "boo." I turn around on my heels to see the beautiful creature again. His pale skin almost radiates off of his red cardigan, he's almost as white as a ghost I think to myself. "Why do you let her do that?" He points to my hand mark redden cheek. "She's my mom, what else am I supposed to do?" I ask him. He comes closer, leaving no room for air between us. He examines my cheek, lightly caressing it. His touch, although still cold, is utterly comforting. "You're like an icepack." I chuckle. _Why the fuck are you making a joke with a squatter? _I seriously can't believe I'm talking with this hobo. He releases a broken smile but never once looking away at my cheek. "Okay…who the fuck are you?" I finally ask. "I'm Tate." He says while finally looking at me directly. "I'm your next door neighbor." A light bulb goes off in my head, "You're Constance's son?" He winces at the sound of her name. _Obviously mothers are a sore spot for this neighborhood. "_Okay here's another question, why the fuck are you in my house?" He takes a step back. "This used to be my house, I lived her with my cock sucking mom and her boyfriend." He puts his hands in his front pockets, looking over the room. _Is this fucker kidding me?_ "That constitutes you the right to come in here and scare the crap outta me?" I ask. He smiles another crooked smile and looks at me. He doesn't look away, simply stares.

"As awkward as this is, I think I need to get ready." I tell him, my attempt at breaking his staring contest. "For?" He asks, eagerly trying to find new information. "Um. Do you watch TV?" The question doesn't faze him, he remains eager to find more. "I guess, no?" He still doesn't move. _Adorable, but creepy. _I chuckle. "My mom, Abigail Paddock. She's sort of known for her TV show." Still no reaction, which is odd, due to the fact that when ever I mention her fucking name people kiss my ass. Its like bringing cat nip to fame hungry cats. "What does she do?" He asks. "She's a psychic, apparently she can tell the future or talk to the dead. I don't really care." I tell him. I've always tried to separate myself from her work.

As long as I can remember my mother's been a con artist. Of course back then she was still known as Norma Oroson, a woman who was known in her hometown as the town whore. _A beautiful reputation really. _Eventually having guys pay her for sex. But after one job she ended up with more then she had asked for, she ended up with me. She decided a prostitute was no way to earn money so she found her way to being a con-artist, _a much more respectable way of money. _Working people for hard earned cash, usually employing me for her services. At one point her jobs turned to tricking people into thinking she could tell the future. Her work apparently worked so well people started to believe her, from there she worked harder and harder until she found a respectable job as reality TV trash, making America believe she was a sweetheart psychic with the motto: "Just because I can talk tell the future doesn't mean I can't look glamorous!" Throughout her adventure she's still remained Norma Oroson, just painted differently. A heartless woman only intent on money, just using those around her as props for her next job.

"A psychic?" His eyes widen, his body tenses. "Unfortunately yes." I remain still, waiting for the ridicule that comes from telling someone about my mothers lie. "She sounds fun." He simply states. I can only stare at him, confused at how nonchalant he is. "You don't want to know more?" I ask him. He looks me up and down, _something he must share with his mother_. "I'm pretty sure I'll find out more since we're neighbors." He laughs and I finally see his real smile. It practically sparkles. I stop my self from staring for too long, "Anyway! Like I said, I need to get ready unless" He cuts me off and takes a step forward. The chill takes over again, it feels familiar this time. "She'll hit you again?" He raises an eyebrow, concerned for his new neighbor. "Probably, this isn't the first time she has." I explain, walking away before I start blabbering on. "You don't deserve that." He says to me. I turn my back away from him; it's hard to hear encouraging words when the only words you live by are "stay out of my light". I remain faced away when he says "I can help you." "How the hell can you do that?" I demand as I turn back to him, but he's gone. The chill has left with him.

My mind still wrapped around the conversation I had with the intruding beauty I snap myself into remembering my task. I run to the bathroom searching for my moms' makeup bag, but as I enter the bathroom I stop in my tracks. Written on the mirror in lipstick is a simple phrase. "Beware of Tate"


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to continue, but I had a writers block! Hopefully you like the direction the stories going on! I thought i'd let this chapter breathe for a bit before shit starts to get crazy!

Tell me what you think by leaving a comment and liking the story!

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I let the cool fall day attempt at calming me down. I breathe in as much air as possible, filling every space within my

lungs until a pain in my chest stops me. Just letting the air pass through the spaces between my teeth and once

again empty my lungs of oxygen. I continue until I can't handle to suppress my urge any longer. I know what I want

it is not breathing like a moron, what I want is to fill my lungs with smoke. _A fucking cigarette, just one and I'll be _

_calm. _But will a fucking cigarette erase that message? "Beware of Tate" I whisper to myself. I sit on the pavement

with my legs pulled toward me. I stare into the pavement; focus all my energy onto the gravel. My answer will be

hidden within, a sign maybe. Nothing, the pavement won't tell me who the hell was in my house, it won't tell me if

they're still there. The only question that wishes to be answered is: Why? Why do I have to be afraid of him? Why is

he so dangerous that a person was in my home to warn me? I think back to my first encounter with him, he was

angelic. _Fuck this._ I pick myself up and make my way back to my room, I know what I need. A drag of a cigarette to

calm everything down. Letting the nicotine consume my worries and be released in a dark cloud. As I made my way

I hear the sound of footsteps, the crunch of gravel being squeezed underneath someone's foot. "Hello?" I utter

while holding myself. Fear has become my new best friend since we entered this shit hole. No reply. "T-t-Tate?" I

ask the fall night. Nothing happens, no angel to greet me. Not even a wandering cat to run past and scare the crap

out of me.

By the time I'm on my third cigarette the sun begins to set, although I'm still not calmed. If anything I'm wired. The

time spent to smoke was time left to think, worry, fear, everything. I have too many fucking questions, I need

answers. The only question I seem most concerned was Tate, he himself was the biggest question. _Peter, you met _

_him for five minutes. Hold the fuck up. _StillI wanted to know more about him, especially why I was warned about him.

_Oh my god you sound like Bella. _Holy shit. This meant that Tate was my fucking Edward. _You're a walking Stephanie _

_Myers novel. You should be ashamed of yourself._ As I raised my lighter towards my cigarette I hoped that my

questions would burn with the cigarette, to let a little smoke cover up the mess of his life. Holding up the lighter to

my face and flicking at the lighter to set a blaze my cigarette.

"You know smoking is bad for you" A voice tells me, "it blackens your lungs and causes cancer." The voice is familiar

already; the chill that is carried with it is calming. "Tate?" I ask the voice as I search for him. "You really shouldn't

smoke" He tells me as he swaggers towards me. "That's never stopped me before" I manage to say with the unlit

cigarette dangling from my mouth. He sits on the front lawn and gazes up at the sky as he pulls a cigarette from his

back pocket. "But that's never stopped me either." He says with a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow. "How do

you happen to always be at my house?" He turns his head and lights his cigarette, inhaling the nicotine into his

system. Watching his lips pucker around the base and suck in the fumes from the cigarette, it was like watching

porn. I could feel myself watching but I just couldn't look away. His lips parted to release the cigarette from his hold

while a small trail of smoke left his mouth. Holding in every cloud of smoke before finally liberating the smoke

through his nose. "Ignoring the question?" I ask as I plant myself near him. He takes another drag and turns his

head to me; playing with his hair as he looks towards the grass. "No, I just don't know how to talk about it." He

continued to look at the grass for answers. I don't say a thing; I just reach for my iPod and play Lana Del Ray. She

sings along to the night sky, she was meant to be listened to with a cigarette and the stars. "Who's this?" His

hands go straight to my iPod to search for his answer. "Lana Del Ray, she's a loner's best friend" I laugh at my own

joke and he actually joins in.

"So Mister Langdon," I break to take in another drag, "why do I always find you here?" Silence takes over our

conversation for a minute; he gathers his thoughts to tell me his answer. "She used to live here." His face breaks

from his composure for a second. "My girlfriend, Violet, her family stayed here before you moved in." My mind

imagines Violet staying in my new home, her family walking the halls and sharing memories within the walls. "She

killed herself." The images changes, she's dead with the family crying in my mind. "Oh… I'm so sorry." What do I

say? I can see him remembering her, I can see his pain. "You loved her. Violet? You were in love?" I know I didn't

need to ask, it was written on his face. She still remained in his heart, she was his Juliet. "We were when she died

the family ended up dying themselves. People say they still stay in the house." My eyes widen at the idea of the

family lingering within the house, it never dawned on me that I actually stayed within a haunted home. He laughs

as he says "But I don't believe that shit. I just visit to remind myself of her." The cigarette he continued to suck on is

down to a bud, the char remains of a cigarette are placed in his hands. "That's why you're always here? I thought

you just liked me." His laugh was hypnotic; I just wanted to continue to make him laugh. "Why are you here?" He

asked me, his focus is shifted towards me. I panic with an answer; I can't handle his eyes actually focusing on me.

He notices my embarrassment and inches closer, he takes his hand and seemingly comes to touch my cheek.

"Thanks" He swipes the cigarette from my mouth and takes his own drag. He simply smiles at me and inhales but

doesn't release, he stares again. This time his stare has changed, it's no longer a fun stare between new friends.

He crawls over to me and stares into my eyes; his face is so close I can feel the cold from his face transferring over

to my own. I don't move, I don't want. He looks down to my lips and I blink, within then the next moment his lips

are an inch away from mine and he blows his smoke into my parted lips. He exhales every cloud of smoke into my

lips until the high from his actions cause me to whimper. His smile and laughter emerge from him, it's entirely

intoxicating, and I instantly crave more. This boy will be the death of me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello my (hopeful!) readers! This chapter is just to get my creative juices flowing! I haven't written in a while and I needed to write this to reignite this **

**story! I hope you guys like it and I promise the next two chapters will be up soon! (Shits about to get crazy...) Hopefully you like it! LEAVE A COMMENT.**

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As the night sky cools the California noisy streets Tate lays down with his arms behind his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his happy trail. _Holy fuck_ was all I could muster up in

my mind. "Can I ask a question?"

"Depends on the question," He says with a smirk.

"Why did you just do that?" I stare at my shoes, afraid of his answer.

"Smoke a cigarette?" He smiles, avoiding the question.

"The shotgun you gave me"

He doesn't say a word, he sits up and crawls over to me, plants himself in front of me like a kindergartner. "Are we playing patty cake now?" My sarcasm dripping with every

word. "Of course, here let's play." Bringing his hands up, displaying to me his pale skin. I don't move, letting my stubborn attitude defuse our playtime. "Come on." He giggles

and grabs my hands, placing them to mimic his own. "Play with me!" Whining like a five year old yet just far more adorable. Not looking at him I begin to start the ritual that is

known as _Patty Cake_. He giggles the minute I begin to play with him, but he doesn't move his hands. Keeping them still as can be. "Tate! You're supposed to-" Before I can finish

my sentence he grabs hold of my hands and pulls me towards him, he grabs hold of my face and lightly kisses me. His lips are utterly soft but firm to my own. The kiss shakes

me to my core and he instantly makes me feel electric.

He let's go of his hold on me to search for my reaction, to see if he did the correct thing. "How was that for play time?" He bites his lower lip in a playful manner that could

instantly give any man a boner. "Um.." I giggle at the sheer experience. _This is far better then any game I played in elementary._ His lips find my own again but this time his

tongue enters my mouth and creates a whole new feeling. My body is electric and I don't want it to stop. He leans back and smiles, "I forgot to tell you." He chuckles, "Welcome

to the neighborhood." I inch closer again and kiss him once more. And again. And again until the streets of California are calm and my heart races faster then any LA highway.


	6. Chapter 6

HEY GUYS! I know I'm taking forever with these updates but tell me what you guys want to see! I'm hoping to really start the development and constantly update! I don't want

to leave you guys hanging! LEAVE COMMENTS!

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I'd try and savor the last of Tate's cigarette, just letting the smoke leave my mouth as it pleased. Taking in the scent of the smoke as if my life depended on it. Thankfully my

mother wasn't home, probably out with her newest filming stent and wouldn't be home until the next morning. Which is fine with me, I suppose I enjoyed the solitude. Well,

that's what I keep telling myself when Tate left after a fierce session of lip locking.

"It's time for a soak." I demand of myself, sulking over to the bathroom nothing the time had vanished. It was now six in the morning; Tate kept me awake all night. Letting the

water run I hear the water drop into the tub splashing around as I gather my bath time ritual supplies. IPod, dock, scented bath beads and giving into my temptation of another

pack of cigarettes. "Fuck it", I utter to myself at the thought of the damaging effects of nicotine. As I placed everything in its place and letting the steam from the bath fill the

small room I catch my reflection in the giant mirror. I stare at the strange boy who looks straight back. "Who am I?" I asked the boy across from me. I waited for the boys reply.

Nothing, not even a whisper. Who was this boy?

I slowly stripped down to nothing and continued to stare. Stare at everything that I hated about the boy, his lanky arms, his chest that always seemed to never exist, everything

down to his hair. No matter what I did to try and cover up the boys imperfections I knew that the boy staring at me would never be perfect for his mother. "Fuck you." I said

with a piercing tone. Turning away from the boy who wouldn't reply and I turned off the running water, determined to wash my cares away.

Staring at the scolding water I could see the boy who wouldn't reply in the ripples of the water. Along side the boy was a man in all black rubber, towering over the boy with his

presence. As I turned around the man was gone, not a trace left but with nothing of my heart beating fast. I quickly turned back at the water and only the boy was there. I light

my cancer stick and lay within the boiling water. Letting the heat relax each muscle, letting the heat attempt at melting the sight of the man in all rubber. Letting the water

wash away my life, the one I told myself would get better. I closed my eyes in the bliss of the heat. Taking a deep sigh, next all I could feel were firm hands suddenly clasping my

neck with such strength I could feel my neck being ready to break in two.

Fear took over and I opened my eyes to the man in the rubber suit holding my neck within his hands and beginning to push me underneath the water. The heat scolding my

eyes as I watched the man holding no emotions as the world began to go black. My world was leaving with every second he held me in my newfound watery grave. I grasped at

his hands as quickly as I could and tried to fight back. I could only scratch and claw to no avail, his grasp became harder and my screams went un-heard as I remained under the

water.

Within the next moment my eyes reopened to no one holding me down, I quickly resurfaced and regained my breath. The man was gone and I remained left alone in the

suddenly cold tub. "I must of fucking fell asleep." I tell myself over and over again. I jump out and dry myself off and find my way to the mirror. I notice that the boy in the

mirror has claw and hand marks on his neck. I lightly grace my neck to the sensation of a sore neck with traces of blood along the claw marks. A new message appeared on my

mirror leaving my breath less and afraid of the boy I once kissed: "STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" Without missing a beat my ipod was thrown towards the mirror leaving traces of the

message scattered along the tiled floor.


End file.
